


it's obvious, you're oblivious

by EvanesDust



Series: AU: FIRST MEETINGS [14]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Explicit Sexual Content, Fandom Trumps Hate 2020, M/M, Mates, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Derek Hale, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, POV Alternating, POV Derek Hale, POV Stiles Stilinski, Possessive Derek Hale, Protective Derek Hale, Roommates, Scent Marking, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski is Alpha Bait
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:09:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28651794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvanesDust/pseuds/EvanesDust
Summary: Derek’s new roommate is alpha bait but seems disinterested in everyone—especially Derek.Stiles is suddenly popular, but can't seem to catch the interest of the only alpha he actually likes....or the one where Stiles and Derek get paired together in room assignments and are secretly in love with the other.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: AU: FIRST MEETINGS [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1184156
Comments: 260
Kudos: 1496
Collections: DarkBloodWolf13's Collection, Fandom Trumps Hate 2020, Sterek Goodness, Teen wolf





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GobsmackApplejack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GobsmackApplejack/gifts).



> thank you so much for bidding on me during the FTH auction 💗 hopefully i've been able to do your prompt justice! 
> 
> i am just finishing up the final chapter so i'm putting this on a weekly posting schedule, and the final chapter will be up by the 30th - sliding in just under the due date! 
> 
> a huge thanks to jamie for reading over this chapter for me when i threw it at her at the last minute. 
> 
> and the absolute biggest thank you to em for all the brainstorming and late-night convos, for reading and rereading and helping me make this better, and for all of your love and encouragement. 🦊💗🐺 (and for, once again, making me a kick-ass moodboard!)
> 
> *what even is a 'comma'? as always… all mistakes are my own*  
> *also tags… tags are hard :/ so if anything is missing please lemme know*

__

moodboard made by my dearest em

* * *

_September_

Derek puts the last of his books away on the shelf above his desk and thinks about his classes for the semester—How To Communicate With Humans, How To Be A Better Alpha, and Pack Leadership. The only course he’s worried about is Ancient History: The Makings of A Werewolf Population. Laura warned him that Professor Deucalion is a hardass. Of course, since she’s the best big sister ever—read: sarcasm—she could also be lying just to get under his skin.

There's sweat dripping off his brow when he first catches the scent—cinnamon, caramel, and vanilla. It reminds him of the hot cocoa his mom would always make him on snow days and of the toffee his grandmother used to bring back for him when she’d take her yearly trips to Atlantic City.

Derek fumbles the book in his hand, nearly forgetting to put it on the shelf before his feet are carrying him closer to the door—closer to the source of that perfect, incredible smell that’s both nostalgic, yet completely new.

Chatter fills the dorm hallway, but he can barely hear it—can barely focus on _anything_. Not when that heady, intoxicating scent overwhelms his senses, has his wolf screaming at him to _mountclaimmate_.

“ _Oof!_ ”

Something collides with his chest before he steps into the hall.

“Oh, my G— Dude, you gotta move, I gotta get in here and away from—”

A box—more duct tape than cardboard—is shoved into his chest as he’s pushed back into the room, and that’s when he gets his first good look at the source of that titillating smell.

“Wow,” he breathes out before he can help it.

“Oh, man. Not you too.” The guy runs his hands through his chestnut-colored hair. It’s a little long, and he pushes it off his face as it flops over his forehead, covering his eyes. They widen when they see Derek, the amber irises almost burning gold as the sunlight streams through the window and sets them ablaze. As he talks, Derek’s eyes scan his face, already memorizing the pattern of moles scattered over his cheeks.

 _Beauty marks_. That’s what his mom calls them.

It’s the thought of his mother that finally clears the fog in his mind, allowing Derek to regain control of his senses and focus on this person in front of him.

“...and I tried to room with Scott, but since he’s mated, he gets to room with his boyfriend, and Isaac doesn’t want me around. Man, that makes it sound like Isaac doesn’t like me or something, but he does. I’m just a bit much and he’s not used to me like Scotty is. But anyway, I get here and it’s like everyone suddenly wants all aboard the Stilinski train. Which, while I’d normally be ecstatic and over the moon, it’s a little overwhelming and if you’re like any of those guys that were following me earlier, I think I’m gonna go ahead and request another room assignment.”

Derek’s eyes go wide, his mouth drops open, and a small noise escapes because the guy just kind of spewed all that out without taking a breath which is impressive, but also makes it incomprehensible, especially since Derek only started paying attention mid-rant.

“Um. No, it’s— You don’t have to move. Um, I’m Derek?” He thrusts his hand out, not knowing what else to do—plus his mom would smack him upside the head for not introducing himself.

The guy seems to relax a little, and there’s a genuine smile on his face as he takes Derek’s hand. “Stiles. Stilinski. That’s, I’m—” The guy laughs nervously and scratches the side of his cheek, filling the air with that tantalizing scent again, but Derek doesn’t dare comment on it. Finally, he reaches forward and takes Derek’s hand in a firm, calloused grasp. “Let me start over. Hi. I’m Stiles.”

Touching Stiles is nothing short of an experience. There’s a jolt of electricity at the brief contact, and Derek is abruptly hard in his pants. He clenches his jaw while trying not to squeeze Stiles’s hand too hard, but praying to the gods that Stiles doesn’t look down and notice the situation in his trousers requires all his concentration.

So, naturally, when he speaks, it comes out more like a growl. “You’re early.”

He wasn’t expecting his roommate for another day or two, hoping to have at least one night of peace before having to socialize. It’s not exactly his forte.

Stiles laughs again, though it still sounds full of nerves, and pulls away—much to Derek’s dismay. “Kind of wanted to check out the room and call dibs on the good bed,” he pauses and looks around the cramped room. “But, uh, it seems you’ve got me beat.”

“I can move?” Derek shrugs, confusion etched on his face. For one, he’s really only unpacked his books onto one of the desks, and from what he can see, there’s not really a good bed. Their room is essentially a large rectangle. There’s a closet on either side of their door, two beds—on opposite sides of the room—a desk at the foot of each bed, and a pitifully small window directly across from the door.

“No, it’s all right.” Stiles looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. Something Derek is used to. He’s been told on more than one occasion that he needs to lighten up and smile more—that his resting bitch face looks more like he’s ready to murder someone than make friends with them.

Before he can attempt to plaster on something resembling a smile, an alpha stops at their door. His nose flares, and his eyes snap into their room and latch onto Stiles. Derek growls low, which grabs the guy’s attention.

“Sorry,” the alpha mutters, and walks away.

“Whoa. That was awesome. Thanks, man. I really appreciate it—especially after the morning I’ve had.”

Derek looks back at Stiles and grunts, not trusting himself to hold back promises of protecting Stiles for the rest of their lives. There are a few more boxes he needs to unpack, so he turns his back on Stiles to get to work.

“Cool. I’m just gonna go down and grab more boxes from my Jeep.”

Derek glances over his shoulder and shrugs. “Okay.”

Maybe he should have offered to help. That would have been the chivalrous thing to do, but Derek can barely think properly with Stiles’s scent clouding the air and making his wolf go belly up inside his chest, tongue lolling out lazily. He really hopes he gets used to it soon, otherwise this school year is going to be very... _difficult_ for him. And his wolf.

When Stiles gets back, he’s already talking. Derek keeps unboxing and rearranging things on his side of the room, only half paying attention to what Stiles is saying. There’s something about his schedule being messed up and how the woman in the scheduling office said there was nothing she could do until classes started, but that he’s going to try to see her in person because he can be very persistent—which Derek, despite only knowing Stiles for a few moments, has no doubt is true.

More alphas walk by, and when one flashes his eyes, Derek practically snarls and snaps his teeth. He decides to turn his attention back to Stiles before he gets carried away and issues a formal challenge to the other ‘wolf.

“You done? Or do you have more boxes?” His tone is harsh, but he hates how they’re all looking at Stiles, like he’s a thing to be _had,_ instead of a human being who could think and choose for himself.

“Uh, no that was the last trip.” Stiles swallows thickly. Derek’s eyes latch on to the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, drawing all of Derek’s attention to the long, pale column of his neck.

 _Fuck_. He needs to get out of here before he does something stupid.

“Good. Don’t touch my shit.” Derek toes on his shoes and grabs his leather jacket before heading back towards the door. He needs air to clear his head before his wolf tries to claim this kid. But he also doesn’t want anymore passing alphas to bother Stiles. “And keep this door shut.”

* * *

Each day that passes is a testament to the amount of control Derek has. Not only is Stiles’s scent incredibly appealing, but the column of his throat—which he keeps rubbing nervously—makes Derek’s wolf go crazy with the need to mark and claim. He’s never had such a visceral reaction to a person before. Not even Paige, who was his high school sweetheart, and—until her death—the person he was sure he would claim as his mate.

The worst part is that Stiles doesn’t even seem to realize he’s doing it. That first day, Stiles kept thrumming his fingers on his desk and all Derek could imagine was how they’d look tugging at his hair or stretching himself open. Derek’s mind paints a vivid picture of Stiles with a white-knuckled grip, fisting the sheets as they fuck.

Stiles regularly eats Doritos— _they’re my favorite, Derek!_ —and damn near suckles his fingers when he’s done, letting out the most ridiculous moans that go straight to Derek’s dick.

_And his lips!_

Those plump, pink lips that make Derek want to kiss until they’re puffy and raw. He absolutely does _not_ jerk off to images of Stiles on his knees with those perfect lips stretched obscenely around his dick and those ridiculous doe eyes watering when he tries to take all of Derek in.

_Ok, fine, maybe he does, but only that one time...and a few times since then._

After which, he sits and wallows in shame, because Derek doesn’t want to be like those other alphas who objectify Stiles simply because he’s so appealing. In all fairness, though, they’re alpha werewolves and Stiles’s big doe eyes make him look like the most delicious, seductive prey.

In the back of his mind, he recalls Kira, his best friend, telling him he should just get over himself and actually try talking to Stiles, after that first day when Derek had stormed out of his own room and immediately made a bee-line for hers.

After explaining his dilemma about his immediate (albeit reluctant) attraction to his roommate, she sat him down on her bed, laid a hand on his shoulder, and told him he was stupid for going to her instead of staying to flirt with his hot, new roommate—in a cheerful voice, while wearing a smile. Why he puts up with her, he has no idea. He tried explaining that it wasn’t that easy, especially since it was clear that Stiles didn’t care for the attention and already talked about moving out, but she claimed mighty wisdom from being an ancient kitsune.

Derek promptly reminded her she was only 18, which resulted in a pillow to the face and a threat to cut off his power because even though she’s only 18, she’s still a kitsune and a little shit.

The memory makes him laugh to himself, but then he jumps when there’s a clatter behind him, and he’s hit with that sweet scent that means Stiles is back from his shower. It should be unsettling that Stiles can come into their room without him noticing, but instead, Derek feels a sense of rightness at the image of Stiles in his den.

It should be a testament to how comfortable he is around Stiles, which is strange because he’s usually so distrustful of new people. Initially, Derek wanted to live at home and just commute every day but his mom said no, that he needed to learn how to interact with others if he wanted to be a proper pack leader someday. He didn’t dare remind her that he’s already a pack leader with Kira, Erica, and Boyd by his side, because all it would have done is earn him a sigh and a lecture about duty and responsibility.

Which is how he ended up living in the dorms. If Erica and Boyd hadn’t mated, then he would have been able to request Boyd as a roommate, but much like Stiles’s spiel about his friends Scott and Isaac, Derek was left to room with whoever the school paired him up with.

Besides the shock of how enticing Stiles’s scent was, it was rather jarring to find out that he’s human. In fact, he worried that he’d almost scared Stiles away again when he narrowed his eyes and all but demanded to know why he was even allowed at a supernatural university. Somehow though, instead of being scared, Stiles laughed and told Derek that he was a spark. Derek’s only reply was a soft, “ _Oh_ ,” because, of course, thanks to his complete inability to socialize like a normal person, he wasn’t going to apologize for questioning whether Stiles had a right to be there. It probably wasn’t the first time someone asked him, and it likely wouldn’t be the last.

“Sorry!” The sound of Stiles’s voice breaks him out of his reverie.

When Derek turns, he chokes on air because Stiles is naked. Okay, not _naked_ , but pretty damn close. There’s a towel wrapped around his hips, but this is the first time Derek has seen Stiles without all the ridiculous layers he wears. His shoulders are broad and his stomach is flat, with a faint outline of muscles over his abs. He’s more fit than Derek realized—lithe, with lean muscles.

Derek flushes, his body igniting with arousal as he prays to the heavens that he doesn’t pop a boner. At least he’s not outside this time and has the proper excuse of seeing skin. Stiles has this way of being seductive without even trying or realizing it.

On occasion, they cross paths outside of the dorm, either between classes or when getting food. Just the other day, when Derek was heading back to their room, he caught sight of Stiles in the kitchenette, likely making himself a snack before class. Stiles was dancing around, wiggling his ass, and swaying his hips. Anyone else, and Derek would have laughed, thought it ridiculous, but this was _Stiles_. Derek had to suppress a groan, hold his jacket over his growing erection, and speed walk back to the room to rub one out.

This is _so_ much worse.

Fresh out of the shower, and completely devoid of anyone else’s scent, Stiles smells _divine_. His natural vanilla-caramel scent permeates the room and makes Derek feel positively drunk on the warm, heady aroma. Derek vaguely remembers Stiles saying something about how he uses odorless shampoo and body wash because, growing up with Scott and then meeting Isaac, Stiles knows how sensitive ‘wolves are to different scents and wanted to be considerate.

Stiles’s body is flushed red—either from scalding water beading down on him in the shower or the rough texture of his towel—and his hair stands on end, making him look thoroughly debauched. The desk creaks under Derek’s grip as he holds himself back from throwing Stiles down on the bed and wringing every ounce of pleasure out of him.

 _Fuck_.

This is worse than the time he saw Stiles getting hit on after class. He’d stopped in his tracks, causing Erica and Boyd to furrow their brows at him questioningly as he glared across the quad at an alpha who was trying to subtly scent Stiles. They practically had to drag him away because his eyes flashed crimson red and it was easy to see that he was ready to challenge this alpha that had _dared_ to approach Stiles.

Or the time when he got back from working out. As soon as he’d opened the door, he was hit by the scent of another alpha in his space and growled under his breath. He’d already been in the process of stripping out of his shirt and practically flung it across the room as his eyes automatically snapped to the unknown alpha leaning against Stiles’s desk and smiling at Stiles with a level of affection that had Derek’s wolf snarling possessively and practically thrashing in his chest. There’s a reason the dorms only have two alphas per floor and make sure they’re not accidentally roomed together.

Derek glared, and the alpha flashed his eyes, though not in challenge, which was probably the only reason Derek managed to have any semblance of control. That is until he took a deep breath and was hit with Stiles’s scent. It was spicy-sweet with arousal. Derek’s gaze went from the alpha to Stiles, who pointedly looked anywhere but at him. That perfect, delicious scent that Derek could roll around in suddenly soured with embarrassment—most likely at having been caught in whatever they were about to do.

Seeing Stiles with someone else hurt more than it should, so maybe he was a little more forceful than he needed to be when he grabbed his shower supplies, growled louder, and followed with a terse reminder not to have another alpha in his space again.

Even now, his gums itch with the urge to drop his fangs. Only then does he realize that he’s partially shifted, his claws dig into his desk, gouging holes into the wood.

 _Fuck_.

He’s getting far too possessive about Stiles, thinking of him as his. They’re just roommates. That’s it, that’s all.

 _Yeah, right_. _Stop lying to yourself, Derek_. This is exactly the reason he’d stolen one of Stiles’s shirts while he was at class and hid it under his pillow. Not a proud moment—and he didn’t even bother lying to himself that what he was doing wouldn’t be seen as creepy to a human—but it was spur of the moment. He was alone in the room and Stiles’s shirt—some green plaid thing he’d wear over graphic tees—was on the ground, so Derek snatched it up. It was soaked in Stiles’s scent, which was good because he desperately needs to build a tolerance to it so he can settle his wolf and get over this ridiculous crush he has on someone that doesn’t even want him, once and for all.

Stiles clears his throat, bringing Derek out of his reverie. “So, uh, yeah, I’m sorry. I thought you’d still be in class, so I’m just gonna…” His words trail off as he turns back around and starts going through his clothes for something to wear.

Jesus Christ, if Stiles pulls that towel off, Derek’s liable to do something insanely stupid. He really has no choice but to leave. So he slams his book shut and huffs a breath before stalking from the room.

So much for studying.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seriously, y'all are gonna make me cry with all the love and support! every kudos, bookmark, and subscription is making me crazy, stupid happy 🥰

_October_

It’s been a month since school started, and Stiles still has no idea what the fuck is going on. His sudden popularity hasn’t waned _at all_. Whatever it is only seems to affect alphas. Thankfully, there aren’t that many at the school, though it does seem like each and every one of them has made their presence known to Stiles.

The abundance of attention is definitely the opposite of his high school experience. Not that he was necessarily _un_ popular then. But getting along and being friendly with people is certainly different from having them— _alphas_ —almost literally _throwing_ themselves at him. On a _daily basis_.

It’s ridiculous. He has regulars. _Regulars!_

There’s Quinn, who looks like the all-American boy next door, and insists on walking him to his morning lectures on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays—it probably would have been every day but Stiles lucked out on having his classes start later on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

That’s nothing compared to Zac, who started showing up during the second week of school. Stiles still isn’t sure how he knew, but Zac brought him curly fries from his favorite diner. The alpha even went so far as to leave a dead animal in front of his door during the full moon.

And then there’s Jerome. He works out at the exact same time as Stiles’s required Physical Education class, always shirtless, and constantly flexing and lifting weights while making unnerving eye-contact.

But, unlike some of the other overaggressive, pushy alphas, they’re harmless and Stiles enjoys their company. Sure, they still sniff him a lot and attempt what he thinks is supposed to be _subtle_ scent marking—as if he doesn’t know what they’re doing.

See? _Ridiculous!_

Especially when Scott’s never once acted like this—not in the two years since being bitten and becoming an alpha. Then again, they’ve known each other since they were in diapers, and Stiles wouldn’t hesitate to give Scott a little jolt of electricity from his spark if he tried anything. Plus, Isaac would kill them both.

And then there’s Derek, who hates him. Okay, maybe hate is a strong word, but he’s always so growly. Stiles is sure Derek is one eye twitch away from ripping his throat out. Possibly with his teeth.

Stiles hunches over his desk and groans as he recalls the look on Derek’s face when he came back from class and Scott was in their room. It was such a stupid thing to forget how territorial alphas are. Though, in his defense, his knowledge of alphas comes from Scott who’s basically a werepuppy.

But by the murderous expression on Derek’s face that day, it was abundantly clear that he is very much territorial. Which, _duh_. Stiles should have realized after the day he moved in when Derek growled lowly at the alphas passing their room. It just didn’t click for Stiles that his best friend wouldn’t be allowed there.

To make it up to Derek, Stiles decided to bake some apology cookies—snickerdoodles. Derek’s favorite, if the conversation Stiles overheard one day could be believed. So he made the cookies, arranged them neatly on a plate, slapped some cling wrap over top, and set them on Derek’s desk.

In the days that followed, Derek looked at him with a mix of shock, awe, and bewilderment. There were even a few times when it even seemed like Derek was going to speak to him. It was weird and confusing, so the next time Stiles saw Scott, he told him what was going on. Scott’s face was a mask of horror which only made Stiles’s anxiety skyrocket.

“Dude!” Scott exclaimed, slapping Stiles on the arm. “Do you know what you just did?”

“Obviously not!” Stiles waved his arms around, waiting for Scott to continue.

“You basically said you wanna have his little werewolf babies. That you wanna _mate_ with him!”

_Wait, what?_

No. _No_. Stiles most definitely had _not_ proclaimed any type of mating with Derek ‘murder brows’ Hale. “But, but— They were just cookies!”

“Dude, that’s like—” Scott took a second, clearly trying to find words that Stiles would understand. “Alphas tend to be protectors and providers while their mates are homemakers.”

Stiles stared at him blankly, waiting for him to continue.

“Like _cooking_ , Stiles, and you offered him _food_. That’s like a big-time courting ritual.”

“ _What?!_ ” Stiles could feel the blood drain out of his face. “That’s stupid! It’s outdated and ridiculous!”

Scott held his hands up in surrender. “No modern-day alpha would actually expect that anymore, but it’s still traditional for born ‘wolves.”

They had both found out that Derek was a born ‘wolf on the first day of school when Stiles had spent an hour looking him up online and subsequently sending all of his social media profiles to Scott.

_Fuck!_

“That’s not— I just—”

_Oh, God_. Derek was probably trying to find a way to let him down gently. While also contemplating his murder.

Stiles promptly ran back to his room, hoping to find Derek so he could explain. Luckily, Derek was there, lying back on his bed with a book in his hand. His left brow shot up when Stiles sputtered over his words.

“Okay, I—” Stiles had to blow out a breath after all the running. In fact, he wasn’t even looking at Derek since he was hunched over trying to steady himself. But he held a hand up and pointed so Derek knew he was talking to him. “No mates! I didn’t realize— Oh God, the room is spinning.”

Stiles heard the bed squeak and saw Derek’s bare feet hit the floor as he approached slowly. “Stiles? Are you... _okay?_ ”

Being okay was really subjective, and that topic alone could have probably started a thirty-minute tangent, but Stiles had a goal! So, as soon as he caught his breath, his head snapped up and he pushed on Derek’s chest before he could take a step closer. “I didn’t realize what giving you the cookies meant! I swear that’s not what I was—”

Stiles didn’t get to finish his sentence because Derek’s expression immediately hardened. He jerked back like Stiles had burned him, quickly grabbed his shoes—not bothering to put them on before he stomped out of the room with a growl.

_Ouch_.

The memory of Derek’s growl sends a shiver down his spine, and he doesn’t want to die because he’s perpetually horny for the surly ‘wolf.

Stiles never expected to like Derek. But Derek’s an enigma—a mystery wrapped in a riddle. From their very first meeting, Derek has been standoffish. He’s quiet and, nine times out of ten, extremely grumpy. Stiles would believe that maybe that’s just Derek’s normal demeanor, if not for the fact that he’s heard him laugh.

_Ugh_.

The first time Stiles ever heard Derek laugh was almost two weeks ago. Stiles had been out all day trying to find a job for some extra cash and to keep him occupied since he wasn’t hanging out with Scott as often since they didn’t have any classes together and Scott spent most of his free time with Isaac. When he got back to the room, there was a pretty girl sitting at Derek’s desk while Derek was sitting on the edge of his bed, back to the door. She and Derek were talking and whatever she said had him throwing his head back and laughing—an actual laugh! Derek’s face was open and bright. His eyes crinkled in the corner and his adorable bunny teeth were on full display, as he couldn’t seem to contain himself.

It was beautiful.

At that moment, Stiles made a decision. ‘ _Fuck it_ ,’ he thought, ‘ _I **have** to be in this guy’s life because his smile makes the world brighter_.’

Naturally, as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he tripped. It was clear Derek hadn’t noticed him before that because as soon as he saw him, his signature scowl was back. But Stiles refused to let it deter him.

“I’m okay!” he exclaimed after regaining his footing. He smiled brightly at the girl and planted himself on his bed, making it clear he wasn’t going anywhere. “I’m Stiles.”

“Oh, I know.” She wore a mischievous grin as she spoke and giggled when Derek growled. “I’m Kira.”

Stiles groaned internally at the fact that Derek probably told all his friends about what a freak he got stuck with for a roommate.

“She was just leaving,” Derek proclaimed, as he stood.

Stiles deflated at that. Did Derek hate him that much that he didn’t even want Stiles meeting his friends?

“Oh, okay,” he said dejectedly. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Kira.”

“You too, Stiles.” Kira gave him a small smile before following Derek out of the room.

_Oh well_. Stiles would just have to try harder next time.

* * *

Stiles startles when their door opens. Since that first day when Derek told him to keep the door shut, it’s become a habit.

“ _He-ey_ , Derek.”

A grunt is all the answer he gets which is pretty par for the course when it comes to conversing with the perpetually grumpy alpha. It sucks because Stiles wants nothing more than to see that smile again. Every once in a while, he gets brief glimpses of it when Derek talks to his pack. Okay, honestly, it’s mostly Kira because Erica seems to give him too much shit to really warrant a smile, and Boyd hardly ever talks. But, just once, Stiles wishes he could be awarded with a true Derek Hale smile.

_Sigh_.

There’s not enough time to lament in his woes, though. If Derek’s back, that means Stiles should start heading to class. It’s a routine they seem to have worked out over the past month—one they rarely stray from, for which Stiles is grateful. Stiles likes the routine. Plus, he’s sure Derek is probably grateful to all the deities that he doesn’t have to spend much time with Stiles in his space.

“All right,” he says, pushing away from his desk. He heads to the closet, pulling his wrinkled shirt over his head. One thing he vowed to himself was that he was not going to show up to class looking like he’d just rolled out of bed—like he always did in high school—and, while the shirt he’d been wearing was clean, it was much too rumpled for his liking. Besides, it’s a little chilly out so he should probably wear something extra in case he gets cold. Except—

“Hey, have you seen my hoodie? The red one?” It’s his favorite and he could have sworn he tossed it on the hook hanging over his closet door, but it’s not there. It’s weird because, now that he thinks about it, a few of his shirts have gone missing, only to suddenly appear a few days later, for the past month or so. Though knowing his tendency to strew his things around carelessly when he’s stressed—a common occurrence in college—it probably ended up on the floor or mixed with Derek’s clothes, and the ‘wolf kindly put them away for him after finding them, like he did with Stiles’s textbooks that one time he was too exhausted to put them away after class. “I can’t find it anywhere.”

There’s a choking sound behind him and he whips around to look at Derek, who averts his eyes and almost looks kind of guilty. _Huh_. _That’s odd._ “Derek? You okay?”

Derek clears his throat and turns away. Stiles waits for a moment to see if he’ll answer but, after a few seconds, in which Derek opens his laptop and pulls a book off his shelf, it’s clear he’s not going to.

_Oh well_.

Stiles doesn’t exactly have time to dwell on why Derek’s being weird all of a sudden because he needs to finish getting ready for class. So he yanks on a new shirt, grabs one of his other hoodies, and starts gathering his books—making sure he packs all his homework in his bag.

To fill the silence, Stiles rattles off the few things he’s done for the day including a mild freak out over an upcoming test. As he speaks, Derek grunts at all the right times. It brings a smile to his face because it means that, despite his general stoicism, Derek is actually listening and paying attention to everything he’s saying.

Their friendship might be tentative—okay, that description is extremely generous—but Stiles likes it. Derek’s presence is calming, and honestly, as much as people stay away when Quinn, Zac, and Jerome are around, it’s nothing compared to the wide berth people grant him if Derek is there. All the better, because Stiles isn’t used to having to turn people down or away but, lately, he’s had to be more forceful when telling people he’s not interested.

How could he be, with someone like Derek around?

Derek’s desk chair squeaks when he sits, and Stiles looks over as Derek fishes his books and notebooks out. He must sense that he’s being watched because, when he looks up, it’s directly at Stiles. “Paper,” Derek grunts.

_Ahh_. That’s Derek speak for ‘ _I have a paper to write and am camping out at my desk for the remainder of the evening_.’ Or something.

“Well, I’ll get out of your hair. Don’t forget to take breaks and have a snack or two.” And, with that reminder, Stiles pats his pockets—making sure he has his keys, phone, and wallet—before grabbing his backpack and heading out of the room.

Three and a half hours later, class is over, and Stiles is _starving_. He’s got about an hour before his next class and, if he’s quick, he can grab the half a sub that’s in his fridge from last night’s dinner. And, since he’s going back to his room, possibly a quick nap. When he gets back to his room, however, Derek’s still hunched over his desk. His fingers are flying over the keys of his laptop as he types. Stiles tries to keep quiet as he makes his way to his bed, but it creaks under his weight.

Derek’s eyes snap to him. Stiles gasps and his heart beats rapidly, but it’s not at the flash of red for startling him. No, it’s because Derek is wearing _glasses_. Not only is he wearing glasses but his hair is messy, likely from running his hands through it—something he always does when he’s stressed and consumed with a particularly difficult assignment.

Stiles attempts to make small talk as he gets his heart under control, but then Derek stands and his mouth goes dry because Derek is wearing thin sweatpants and the softest looking maroon sweater. _With thumbholes!_

Jesus fuck! The contrast between hotness and fluff is just fucking _unfair_. How is he supposed to remember what words are when he can see the bulge of Derek’s dick?

To make it worse, because the world is clearly out to get him, Derek mutters something about needing a break and yanks his shirt over his head.

_Shirtless Derek._ Check.

_Sweatpants dick._ Check.

_Stiles’s dick doing backflips._ Check.

Obviously, Stiles has died and gone to heaven. But then Derek leaves the room and Stiles regains enough coherence to remember just how ridiculous and inappropriate he’s being.

_Fuck! Stop lusting over your hot roommate, Stiles. Not cool. Especially when the guy clearly hates your guts._

He rubs a hand down his face, thankful that he didn’t pop a boner. God, that would have been embarrassing. While Stiles might have the interest of 98% of the alphas on campus, Derek’s made it clear that he’s not one of them. Not that Stiles has ever deluded himself into thinking Derek would ever be interested in him, not when he has people fawning over him all the time.

This is far too much pining over someone who barely tolerates him—especially when he should be sleeping. So Stiles pulls himself together, walks to the window, yanks the blackout curtains closed, and proceeds to fall back on his bed. Unfortunately, sleep doesn’t come, and it’s _not_ because visions of sweatpants dick dance in his head. No, it’s because Derek’s laptop is still open and the screen is bright.

After several weeks of living with Derek, Stiles knows that Derek’s screensaver won’t kick in for probably twenty or thirty minutes. His internal debate on whether or not to leave it only lasts for a few seconds because, in true Stiles fashion, he has zero concept of personal space.

It’ll probably get him killed one day. At least, that’s what his dad always says. And Scott. And Isaac.

Which also means that Stiles does more than just make sure everything is saved and close the laptop. No, instead he starts reading about Derek’s paper on what looks to be human dynamics in packs. Stiles winces because he knows how frustrating that class is for Derek who doesn’t have experience with human packmates. In fact, the most words Stiles has ever heard Derek speak was when he was complaining about his last paper for this same class on one of his weekly facetimes with Laura.

In the back of his mind, he knows what he’s doing is overstepping, but he can’t seem to stop himself from making little notes and editing Derek’s work. He knows what it’s like to be the only human in a pack of ‘wolves and just wants to use his abundance of firsthand knowledge to help. Soon, he’s lost in the task and is startled when there’s a growl behind him.

“Oh, Jesus, fuck!” he says, flailing back. The impending fall doesn’t come because Derek reaches out, stopping the chair as it tips back. Stiles opens his mouth to say thank you, but promptly chokes on air when he gets a good look at the ‘wolf.

Derek must have showered because he’s wet and there are water droplets slowly dripping down his chest and heading straight towards his—Stiles has to turn his head away because this time his dick _does_ start to chub. _Crap_. There’s no way Derek _doesn’t_ smell his arousal.

He tries to will his hormones to _calm the fuck down_ , but his mind is white noise and all he can think is _hornyhornyhorny_ because it’s been a while since he’s jacked off and even longer since he’s gotten laid.

“I, um,” Stiles clears his throat as it squeaks, “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have— But I thought maybe I could help? You know, since I have first-hand experience with this kind of stuff, from my pack back home.”

When Derek leans close, Stiles hears what sounds like rumbling coming from Derek’s chest. His heart beats out of his own as he looks over because Derek is _right fucking there_! Not even an inch of space separates them and, if Stiles were brave enough, he would close the distance and kiss him.

But that’s the thing, he’s _not_ brave. Their tentative relationship survives on Stiles never acting out on his crush and Derek being kind enough to ignore it.

So he turns back to the screen and, even though his voice is laced with nerves, he points out what he’s added, making sure to let Derek know he can easily reject any and all ideas.

Derek remains silent, though his breathing is heavy—little puffs of breath that warm Stiles’s cheek. It’s instinct that has Stiles tilting his head and baring his neck. He hears an approving growl and a small whimper escapes him when Derek’s lips ghost over his skin, and when Derek says his name, it sounds slurred like he’s speaking around fangs.

Stiles’s eyes slip shut and his mind screams, ‘ _bite me, mark me, claim me_ ,’ but before he can vocalize his traitorous thoughts, a shrill alarm sounds across the room, signaling it’s time for his next class.

They spring apart, and Stiles doesn’t even bother to hide his erection as he scrambles to grab his bag and race out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter it's back to derek's POV!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back to derek's POV!

_November_

Stiles’s scent always seems to linger in the air, cutting through all the other smells on campus and enveloping Derek in that sweet, warm aroma that never fails to make him weak in the knees. Derek tries his hardest not to glance around the quad as he walks to class but it’s like he’s instinctively drawn to Stiles.

The sounds of idle chatter and feet running on the grass fade away as his eyes immediately lock onto him. Stiles and his friends are playing frisbee in the quad, and when the toss goes high, Stiles leaps in the air to snatch the disk. His shirt rides up, exposing his stomach, and— _Christ!_ —Derek’s mind short circuits at the sight of creamy, white skin.

Derek’s senses kick back online when Stiles lands on the ground with a soft ‘ _oof_ ’ just in time to hear someone say, “Okay, seriously, at this point he’s just teasing us.”

Derek looks to his left, ignoring Kira’s quizzical expression, and spots a pair of alphas also watching Stiles. They speak in low voices, a feeble attempt at discretion as they ruminate over how appealing Stiles is and whether he’s clueless about it.

Derek has to suppress a growl. He knows just how much Stiles hates all the attention from the alphas, except for a few—himself included. Though, Derek is also sure that it’s just because his presence seems to be a deterrent for other alphas to approach him.

Not that he blames Stiles at all. It’s one reason he sticks close to Erica and Kira when he’s out. Derek knows what he looks like. He’s an alpha werewolf who enjoys working out. That, and he may or may not have been putting a bit more effort into his physical appearance since rooming with the infuriatingly alluring Stiles Stilinski.

Damn him and his doe eyes. And sinful lips. And that deliciously long neck with pale skin that has Derek’s wolf going crazy with the urge to lick and bite and claim and— _Christ_ —it doesn’t take long for Derek’s mind to wander when it comes to Stiles.

Lately, though, guilt curdles in his gut. Derek knows Stiles isn’t interested in him, or anyone, it seems, and since that day—when Derek found Stiles correcting his essay—their tentative relationship has become somewhat strained. Derek could kick himself for losing control and exposing himself as yet another mindless alpha that only thinks with their dick.

But he’s _not_ like that. His parents had raised him to be kind and respectful to humans and supes alike, and he’s spent his entire life trying to prove that he’s not like so many of the other alpha ‘wolves that think they’re entitled to everything, and every _one_ , simply because of their status.

Derek’s gotten a chance to know Stiles after living with him for the past couple of months, and sure he’s attractive and smells delectable, but he’s also smart—so incredibly smart—and loyal, and so outrageously generous that Derek can’t help but to wonder how he ever finds time for himself. It’s unfortunate that he’s already part of a pack because he’d be a great asset.

And an incredible mate.

Snickerdoodles aren’t the only things that Stiles has given to Derek—though he’s always made sure that Derek knows it’s only because he’s used to cooking for two. And damn if the food isn’t delicious. Derek is pleased to inform his mother that she doesn’t have to worry about him surviving on ramen and pop tarts because Stiles provides him with home-cooked (or in their case, dorm cooked) meals almost every night.

In fact, the _only_ time Stiles hadn’t cooked for them was the time his computer had shut down before he could hit save and led to him having to rewrite his paper from scratch. It’s pretty amazing what Stiles manages to whip up in the kitchenette on their floor—lasagna, meatloaf, and chili with cornbread, to name a few. Not to mention the delicious desserts he always bakes for them on the nights he doesn’t have class the next day and has more time to spare.

There’s also the fact that, even though they’re barely friends, Stiles still looks out for him. Like when Stiles reminds him to take snack breaks and rest his eyes while he studies or writes papers. Sometimes, Derek is so lost in concentration that time gets away from him and his own hunger or fatigue goes unnoticed until he gets a pounding headache and has no choice but to drag himself to the vending machines and grab a Gatorade and some peanut butter M&Ms to refuel. What he thinks has been only 30 minutes will end up being an hour, or even two. Stiles’s explosive sigh oftentimes barely registers until there’s a sandwich placed in front of him, and Stiles forcibly turns Derek’s chair away from his laptop—which is another thing. He’s impressively strong for a human—though Derek suspects he uses a bit of magic.

Derek is normally leery of magic users—thanks to an ex with a penchant for using dark magic to manipulate those around her—but Stiles’s spark doesn’t give him that familiar sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. In fact, the few times he’s been present during the rare occasion Stiles uses it outside of class, it often wraps around him like a warm embrace, making him feel safe and relaxed. It was almost soothing—a word Derek never thought he’d use to describe magic. He suspects it’s purposeful, however, since he once told Stiles about his manipulative ex after he’d walked into their room one day and found it smelling of magic.

Which just shows how much Stiles _gets_ him. Unlike most people, Stiles isn’t intimidated or scared of him and doesn’t judge him or only want him because the genetic lottery graced Derek with a chiseled jawline and muscular body. No. Stiles is funny and witty and challenges Derek instead of just agreeing with everything he says simply because he’s an alpha. Not only would Stiles be a perfect mate, but he also makes Derek want to be a better alpha and man.

Kira snaps her fingers in front of Derek’s face, yanking him from his thoughts. “You have it _bad_ , Derek. Seriously, just talk to him.”

Derek shakes his head no, watching Stiles scowl when he notices the other alphas watching him. It’s a look Derek hopes never gets directed towards him. “He’s not interested and I respect him too much to push.”

“You haven’t even _tried_.” She grabs his arm, squeezing it as she swings around to stand in front of him. “Don’t even bother lying. Your face _screams_ longing and pining from a distance.”

“I am not _pining!_ ” At least, not from a distance. It’s very much close-quarters pining, considering they share a room. In fact, Derek’s sure everything would be easier if they weren’t roommates. Then it wouldn’t be so hard to ignore all the singular aspects of what makes Stiles so easy to fall for because when confronted with all of them on a daily basis, he's helpless to do anything but long for someone who won't even remember his name this time next year.

Kira levels him with a familiar expression that screams, ‘ _liar_.’ “Ok, fine, I’ll admit he’s cute—“ Kira’s eyes light up with mischief and mirth, but he rolls his eyes and ignores her before she can cut in. “ _But,”_ he says, cutting her off before she can speak _,_ “it doesn’t _mean_ anything. He’s just my roommate. Nothing more.”

Before he can say anything else, Kira coughs and nods over his shoulder. When Derek turns, Stiles is standing there, mouth open like he was going to speak, but then his mouth snaps shut and he runs off, leaving Derek standing there metaphorically scratching his head.

“You guys are perfect for each other,” Kira groans, rolling her eyes as she throws her hands in the air. “Communication is a thing, Derek. Look it up, and, for the love of God, _talk to him_.”

Derek stares after her as she walks off before realizing he’s late for class.

 _Christ_ , he needs to get his mind off Stiles.

* * *

 _Why am I here?_ Derek wonders as the fifth person in two minutes knocks into him. The music is too loud for his sensitive ears—even with the special earplugs Laura gifted him after he swore he’d never go to a college party. If only she could see him now.

“Get that grumpy look off your face and drink this.” Erica shoves a drink in his hand and he doesn’t even have to sniff it to know it’s laced with wolfsbane.

“I already told you I don’t want to drink.”

“What was that?” She asks with a sly grin, spread wide on her cherry-red lips while she taps her ear, showing off her own set of earplugs—red, to match her signature lips. “Sorry, can’t hear you. Better drink up!”

Her laugh is infectious as Boyd spins her around, looping an arm around her middle to sway with the music that pumps through the speakers so loudly that Derek feels the vibrations through the floorboards. The lights are dim, but there’s some type of strobe light pumping with the bass. Bodies are jam-packed like sardines as people dance and laugh and drink. His shoes keep sticking to the floor, tacky with half-dried drinks.

Derek hates it.

Yet _another_ person bumps into him—a girl. Her perfume is a harsh, offensive mixture of artificial flowers that burns his nostrils, and he needs air. Derek sets his cup down on a nearby table and makes his way through the crowd of stumbling, rowdy partygoers, and towards what he _hopes_ is the backyard. Parties have never been his thing, but Erica wanted to go, and Boyd will try out every stereotypical college experience, so Derek got dragged out too. Normally, Kira would have been with them, but she’d met someone and they were spending the weekend together.

A door opens, and his lungs fill with fresh air as he makes his way to his escape, only to be hit with that alluring, unmistakable aroma of _StilesStilesStiles_ —though it’s sullied with sweat, cheap beer, and foreign pheromones from all the bodies that had been rubbing against him since he’d gotten there. Underneath it all, however, is the unmistakable acidic, metallic smell of irritation and aggravation that rolls of Stiles in waves—so pungent and thick, he can almost taste it.

“Dude, I said _no_.” Stiles’s voice is recognizable, though muffled with the earplugs, but the irritation is clear in his voice.

Derek scans the room and easily finds him standing in the kitchen. Stiles is leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed in front of him like he’s aggravated.

An unfamiliar alpha stands in front of him with a drink held out. “Oh, come on. You know you want me, baby.”

Derek damn near snarls, and, before he can think twice, he stalks over, situating himself between Stiles and the alpha, letting his eyes flash red—a clear threat to back off. “He said no.”

The alpha gets right in his face, one finger pressed to his chest, that Derek has to stop himself from breaking. When the alpha breathes, Derek gags on the alcohol fumes and wolfsbane. “And just who the fuck are you?”

Before Derek can answer, someone throws an arm around the alpha’s shoulders. “Charlie! You gotta come tell Jameson about the harpy you met last year!”

While the drunk idiot is distracted, Derek turns and nods for Stiles to follow him outside. He looks back to make sure Stiles follows him and is pleased when Stiles fists the back of his shirt so they don’t get separated.

The air is refreshing, and he inhales a lungful. There are a few people in the backyard, but not as many since it’s cold. Derek takes the earplugs out, shoving them in his pocket. He stops walking when Stiles clears his throat and prepares himself for Stiles to yell at him, to remind him he could have taken care of the alpha himself, so he’s surprised when Stiles mutters, “Thanks.”

“Yeah, of course.” Derek looks back at the house with a glare, like it’s personally offended him. Since that alpha is in there, it might as well have. “I’m sorry about that. We’re not all like that.”

“Not your fault,” Stiles mumbles as he starts walking again. Like a gravitational pull, Derek’s feet follow. “And unfortunately, not the worst. The first party I went to, I had a guy grab my ass and tell me I’d look good on his knot—”

Derek growls. His gums itch, as do his fingertips—his fangs and claws threatening to extend. He wants to find the guy and beat him to a pulp. Stiles either ignores Derek or doesn’t hear his turmoil because he keeps talking.

“But Scott was there and pulled him away. And, mostly, it’s all innocent. I had someone show me their checking account so I could see how much money they had to take care of me. I even had a TA try to give me all the answers to every quiz for my Elements of Magic class. Stupid things like that.”

Before he can stop himself, Derek huffs a laugh at the utter ridiculousness of it all. “Well, clearly they didn’t realize you can take care of yourself or that you’re incredibly smart.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and when Derek looks over at Stiles, he’s staring at him, eyes wide. “You think I’m smart?”

“Yeah. Of course. I mean, I got an A on that paper you corrected. Your edits were insightful and brilliant.” Derek is pleased to be the reason Stiles’s cheeks flush pink. Perhaps he should compliment him more, so he tries to expand, “Yeah, it was actually kind of surprising.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Because you’re human.”

Stiles’s face falls, and far too late Derek realizes how what he said could be misconstrued.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that.” Derek groans in frustration. This is why he doesn’t talk! “You’re smart. You are _incredibly_ smart.”

_Smooth Derek. You already said that..._

“For a human.”

“Listen, I’m not—” Derek sighs heavily. “I’m not very good at this. I suck at talking to people.”

Stiles’s eyes go wide, clearly not expecting Derek to divulge that information. Not that he’s hiding it, people just assume he’s an asshole or standoffish. But Derek legitimately cannot hold a conversation to save his life. Even the conversations with his family and pack are stilted and one-sided.

“Words are hard, huh?”

Derek shrugs. “Something like that. Listen, lemme make up for sticking my foot in my mouth. Are you hungry, by any chance?”

At first, it looks like Stiles might say no. His expression screams of hesitancy, but then he says, “Sure. I could eat.”

Derek suggests a steakhouse that’s a few blocks over—benefits of campus being near downtown, within walking distance of food, drinks, and shopping.

“Really?” Stiles says when they stop in front of the restaurant. “Marrow? Like bone marrow? Isn’t that a little literal?”

“I think it’s a portmanteau, actually. My cousin, Moffy, owns the place with his husband, Farrow.” Derek leads him into the restaurant.

It’s packed full—not unexpected on a Friday night—so they sit at the bar until a table is available.

Derek’s usually good at tamping down his jealousy. He’s never been insecure about the fact that Stiles doesn’t seem to look at him twice—it’s a stab to the ego, sure, but Stiles never gives any alpha a second glance. Until now.

Almost as soon as they sit, the bartender sets a drink in front of Stiles and points down the bar at a familiar-looking alpha. Stiles accepts it, and Derek can’t tell if he’s flirting when he grins down at Jerry or Jeremy, or whatever the alpha’s name is—yes, Derek recognizes Stiles’s ‘regulars’ which Kira constantly gives him shit for—as he holds his own drink up and smiles brightly at being acknowledged.

Wait, does Stiles actually like this guy? Sure, he’s got a few alphas that don’t bother him as much as others, but Derek’s never seen him accept anything from them. It’s common knowledge that accepting an alpha’s offer conveys an interest in being courted.

“You wanna go sit with him?” Derek asks, focusing on the dark wood of the countertop and trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

“What?” Stiles’s brows furrow in confusion and Derek can smell the nervous energy rolling off him in waves. “Who, Jerome? Nah, dude, that’s cool. I’d rather sit here with you. He’s nice and all but…”

Derek looks at him curiously. “But?” he prompts, once it’s clear Stiles isn’t going to continue.

“I don’t know. I don’t like him like that. I wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea. Probably too late since I accepted this, but it’d be worse if I went over there. Plus, after earlier, I’d rather stay with you. I-I trust you.”

Derek absolutely does not preen at somehow earning Stiles’s trust, except that he _totally_ does. So he orders his own drink, opting to forgo the wolfsbane since he doesn’t want to get drunk. The last thing he wants is a lack of inhibitions while he’s with Stiles after that confession. Stiles, however, doesn’t seem to mind, or he wants to prove how much he trusts Derek, as he downs the alcohol in his glass and calls the bartender back over, ordering another drink with an impressively real-looking fake ID. Either way, Jerome is long forgotten.

_Take that, Jerry._

Maybe Derek should have asked how many drinks Stiles had at the party because, by the time they get to the table, it’s clear he’s more than tipsy from just the two drinks at the bar. Especially when he gets stuck as he tries to get his hoodie off.

Stiles is an adorable drunk, though, and far more clingy than Derek was expecting—leaning against him, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder, and holding onto his arm for balance as they walk. It makes him slightly overprotective, itching with an intense need to make sure Stiles is safe, but he’s also not so overbearing that he stops Stiles from ordering a rum and coke. He does, however, ask the waiter for an additional glass of water while they wait for their steaks to cook—which he insists Stiles drinks as soon as it’s set in front of him.

Stiles doesn’t protest and even goes easy on him by leading the conversation as they eat. There’s not much that Derek doesn’t already know about Stiles, since he tends to despise silence, but, this time, he talks about classes—more specifically, about how his professors give a lot of pop quizzes on their readings.

“Yes!” Derek practically slams his palms down on the table in enthusiastic agreement. “It’s like they’ve forgotten we have other classes to worry about!”

Stiles nods, sipping his water. “Each one thinks their class is the only one that matters.”

“They don’t even care that it’s basically impossible to read 200 pages a night **and** study **and** write papers!”

“Not to mention eat and sleep, let alone have fun. It’d be nice to have an actual social life.” Stiles grumbles.

The conversation quickly devolves into them making fun of their professors when Stiles talks about his Mythological Creatures professor, who always seems to have crumbs in his mustache—” _His mustache! Like how?_ ”—and never notices.

Derek retorts by telling Stiles about his Supernatural Anthropology professor who spits every time he talks—” _No one will sit in the front row anymore._ ”

Stiles’s eyes sparkle mischievously with each new story as they try to outdo each other with who has the worst professor, but Derek declares himself the winner when he makes Stiles laugh so hard that he doubles over and his drink shoots out through his nose.

It makes Derek’s stomach hurt from laughing so hard, but he still makes sure Stiles is okay before leaning back in his seat.

“ _Asshole_ ,” Stiles says with a grin, smacking him in the chest.

By the end of dinner, Stiles looks thoroughly debauched and _far_ too desirable to both Derek _and_ his wolf, who yips its irritation and confusion as to why Derek hasn’t yet claimed Stiles as their own. There’s a slight flush to his skin and his normally quaffed hair is disheveled from running those sinfully long fingers through it lazily during their conversation. His scent exudes happiness and contentment, heady with the spicy-sweet smell of his arousal. Though Stiles also had a lot to drink and is more relaxed than Derek’s ever seen him, so it probably means nothing. He’s also sure he heard a story about Stiles being a famously horny drunk, so Derek tries not to read into it. Unfortunately, he can’t say the same for the other alphas in the area who keep gazing at Stiles like he’s a meal they want to devour.

“All right. Let’s get you outta here,” Derek says after he pays—to which Stiles surprisingly didn’t protest. Stiles sways a little when he stands up, and Derek’s instincts scream at him to get Stiles home safely. “Hoodie?”

“’M too warm. Don’t need it.” Stiles folds it over his arm, but Derek snatches it away.

“You’re warm now, but you’ll cool off once we get you outside.” They might live in California, but it still gets cold—especially since they’re up north.

“Ugh. _Fi-ine_.” Stiles huffs and holds his arms up, pouting and tapping his foot. It shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. So he helps Stiles into the hoodie, though it’s clearly under duress.

Derek keeps a hand on the small of Stiles’s back as he leads him outside, glaring and flashing his eyes at any alpha that dared to look at Stiles—ready to challenge someone if necessary. Normally, he wouldn’t give in to his instincts—too worried that Stiles would think him brutish and hate the obnoxious show of alpha posturing—but Stiles isn’t in the right state of mind to consent to another alpha if one should try to claim him.

Their arms brush as they walk back to the dorm, sending sparks across his skin, and though Stiles seems to sober up—cold air has that effect on humans—Derek’s pleasantly surprised when Stiles stays close for the remainder of their walk.

All too soon, they’re back in their room and the air is charged with electricity and unspoken tension from words unsaid. Somewhere along the lines, something changed between them—that much, Derek is sure—but he doesn’t dare hope. For once, Stiles is quiet, and the silence grows. He can feel those amber eyes boring into him.

Derek could kick himself as he changes and climbs into bed. He faces the wall, too scared of what he’ll see on the other side of the room—of whatever look Stiles is giving him.

“Goodnight, Derek,” Stiles says quietly, once they’re both in bed. So quietly, in fact, that Derek’s not sure if he’s meant to hear it, but he responds anyway.

“Goodnight, Stiles.”

He reaches out to his desk and flicks the last of the lights off, and spends the rest of the night staring at the cracks in the ceiling, wishing he was braver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only one more chapter left!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise! it's a day early! woot woot!! i just wanna thank everyone for all the love and support. seriously all the kudos, comments, and bookmarks have meant the world to me 🥰 
> 
> and with that, FTH2020 is done! both fics i wrote are complete and i've already signed up for FTH2021!!

_December_

Stiles lies back in bed with one arm tucked behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling, listening to Derek talk about his pack. It’s late, and he should sleep—they both should—but he enjoys these talks with Derek, even if they leave him exhausted in the mornings. That’s what coffee and Red Bull are for, anyway.

Besides, Stiles has worked so hard to get Derek to speak to him again. Things had been different between them after Stiles’s drunken episode. Derek withdrew almost immediately and hardly talked, which was impressive considering how little he already spoke. Stiles knew it was his fault—that there was no way Derek couldn’t tell he was attracted to him—but he’d been so sure that Derek felt the same way.

It only took a few days of awkwardness before enough was enough. Rather than continue to tiptoe around Derek, Stiles did what he does best—ignore the problem until it goes away. So he pretended that night never happened and allowed himself to resume his signature rambling. Thankfully, Derek didn’t take long to get with the program, and soon they were back to their tentative friendship.

But lately Derek’s opening up more. With Christmas coming up, Stiles has been a little more morose than usual. Derek picked up on it and, when asked, Stiles revealed that the holidays are always hard since his mother passed away. Derek was silent, and Stiles waited for the usual platitudes whenever he told people. But they never came. Instead, Derek told him about Paige, his first love—the girl he thought he would spend the rest of his life with.

After that, the floodgates opened, and they talked about their greatest fears. For Stiles, it was something that stemmed from his mother’s death and how she would sometimes look at him like she didn’t know him at all—like she’d forgotten who he was and he’d become a total stranger to her. Unfortunately, that fear came true during his senior year, when he’d been taken during the wild hunt and erased from existence.

“The ghost riders,” Derek whispers, staring at him from across the room. “They took my uncle, too.”

“Really?” Stiles remembers reading about it in the papers—others who were caught in the hunt, though he never met any of them. They probably should have started a support group.

“Yeah. Small world, I guess.” Derek then tells him about the Argents, a family of hunters notorious for not following the code. Apparently, his uncle Peter had almost died in a fire that the Argents had set, intending to kill Derek’s entire family. It drove him mad to the point where he’d tried to kill Derek’s mother. In his crazed mind, she didn’t deserve the alpha power. Luckily, they subdued him before he could do any actual harm. Unfortunately, he was taken by the ghost riders during his rehabilitation.

“Who brought him back?” Stiles asks. From personal experience, he knew someone had to have remembered Peter in order to escape the hunt.

“My mom. We all knew _something_ was wrong, but she was the one who figured it out. What about you?”

“It was my dad. He’s the only reason I’m here.” Ultimately, his father’s love was the catalyst that brought him home.

Not exactly the best kind of bonding material, but sharing their traumatic experiences seems to bring them closer and give them a better understanding of one another.

It’s quiet for a moment until Stiles speaks again. “Hey, Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad I got you as my roommate.”

Derek doesn’t answer right away, but Stiles doesn’t expect him to. He knows words are hard for Derek. He’s come to know that Derek’s silence usually means that he’s thinking, and just as he closes his eyes, he hears Derek whisper across the room.

“Me too.”

* * *

Stiles sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose. There’s a dull ache behind his eyes from trying to decipher the jumble of letters in front of him. He’s been staring at the same page of his textbook for the past twenty minutes now—reading the same sentence over and over again—but still hasn’t been able to retain any of the information.

Unfortunately, with finals looming over him, he has no choice but to study—especially since his thoughts have been straying to a certain sour wolf far too often.

Even though Derek is sitting on his bed, book in hand, face pulled down in a frown as he does his own studying, he’s still the most beautiful person Stiles has ever laid eyes on. He wishes there were more between them, but it’s clear that Derek isn’t interested.

He’s broken out of his reverie when there’s a knock on the door, so soft that Stiles wonders if it was an accident until there’s a second one—louder this time. A familiar voice calls out and asks if anyone’s home. Derek sets his book down and gets up to answer it, but Stiles stops him, knowing the person on the other side of the door is there for him. “I got it.”

He gets out of bed and pads over to open the door, finding Isaac on the other side, hunched over and scolding himself. “‘M so sorry. Shouldn’t be bothering you.”

“Uh, is everything okay?” Stiles asks, looking around for Scott. It’s rare that Isaac seeks Stiles out—the few occasions being when Isaac wants to surprise Scott with something, but Scott’s birthday has already passed and, as far as he remembers, Isaac secured his Christmas gift a week ago.

“I’m gonna fail. I’m gonna fail all my classes and have to drop out. My dad’s gonna be pissed, Camden’s gonna be disappointed, and I’ll have to _leave!_ I’ll have to go to community college and leave Scott here, and what if he meets someone else?”

Stiles manages not to roll his eyes. He understands Isaac’s insecurities, and would never belittle them, but he also knows how head over heels Scott is about him. Not to mention the fact that people often fawn over Isaac’s angelic beauty—much to Scott’s dismay.

The hall is quiet since most people are studying, but a few people have their doors open, so he pulls Isaac into the room and shuts the door behind them, giving them privacy. As he takes Isaac’s bag and leads him over to his desk, he glances over at Derek, giving him a look that he hopes conveys apology at having another ‘wolf in his space. Derek gives him a meek smile and pulls on his headphones—which Stiles knows is more out of courtesy than anything else, since he’ll still be able to hear everything—so he thinks it’s all right.

“Scott exchanged mating bites with you because he’s in _love_ with you. That’s not something he would ever take lightly or throw away just because a pretty girl or boy smiled at him. But, if you want, I can help you study. This way you pass all your classes with flying colors and can keep flashing your eyes at anyone who dares get close to him. Sound good?”

Isaac blows out a heavy breath and nods as he sits in Stiles’s desk chair. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem. Now, why don’t you tell me which classes you’re having trouble with so we can get started.”

It only takes about 30 minutes for Stiles to help Isaac make a study plan, tackling his hardest classes. It works out perfectly because Isaac’s phone alarm goes off soon after, and he jumps out of his chair.

“Shit, I need to get to class!” Isaac exclaims, gathering his books off Stiles’s desk.

“It’s gonna be okay. Just text me later and we’ll figure out a time to meet.”

“Yeah, okay.” Isaac fixes his bag over his shoulder and walks to the door with Stiles. “Thanks again.”

“Anytime. Now go, or you’ll be late,” Stiles says. Once Isaac leaves, he shuts the door and leans against it, thunking his head back on the thick wood.

_Crisis averted_.

When he pushes away from the door, his eyes land on Derek, who’s staring at him. “Uh, everything okay?”

“You are... _incredible_.” Derek breathes in awe.

“What?” Stiles definitely didn’t hear that right.

“What you just did. Helping your friend like that—”

“What? With Isaac?” Stiles shrugs. “Oh, that was nothing.”

Derek shakes his head and his tone gets more adamant. “No, no, no, it’s not nothing. It’s _you_. You do stuff like this all the time. You’re constantly taking care of people. You’re so loyal, and selfless, and caring. You even made me _cookies_.”

“They’re your favorite,” Stiles says simply.

Derek sighs. “I’m in love with you.” His tone somehow sounds both hopeful and despondent. “I’ll understand if you want to request a new roommate for next semester. You probably think I’m no better than those other alphas who follow you around, but I promise you, Stiles. If you let me, I will spend the rest of my life taking care of you like you deserve.”

Wait.

Derek _loves_ him?

Derek loves him.

Derek loves _him_.

Before he can overthink or second-guess things, Stiles launches himself at Derek, tackling him onto the mattress and knocking his books away to kiss him deeply. Derek opens for him like he’s starving, and Stiles can’t help but moan into it. He’s wanted this for so long, and he doesn’t plan on holding back now that it’s finally happening.

Derek’s lips are unexpectedly soft, unlike his own, which are chapped. That doesn’t stop Derek from licking them and tugging on his bottom lip, though. When Stiles moans again, Derek’s chest rumbles beneath him, vibrating through him. Stiles never wants this to end, but breathing is a thing that needs to happen, so he— _very_ reluctantly—pulls away to stare into Derek’s eyes, which are now scarlet red.

“Sorry,” Derek slurs around his fangs.

Stiles smiles, rather pleased with himself for causing Derek to lose control—even if it’s just a slight shift. “Don’t apologize. Especially not for this.” He leans back down and kisses Derek again, running his tongue over Derek’s fangs, making him hiss in pleasure. “I love you too, Derek.”

Derek gasps and grips Stiles, the pinpricks of his claws gently press into his skin, just above the waistband of Stiles’s chinos.

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” Derek says quietly.

“You won’t.” To prove his point, Stiles sits up, straddling Derek’s waist properly, and yanks his shirt off, tossing it over Derek’s head, where it lands on his desk.

Derek’s hands quickly move to Stiles’s thighs, safely protected from his claws by the thicker material of his pants, but that just won’t do, so Stiles takes Derek’s hands and slides them back up to his hips, moaning at the pinpricks of his claws as they gently scratch his skin.

“ _Stiles_ …” Derek growls his name like he’s in pain.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I want this. I want _you_.” Derek’s touch sends a shiver down his spine, making his dick jump. He’s never gotten this hard this fast, but at least Derek isn’t unaffected—that would be embarrassing. Thankfully, when Stiles rolls his hips, there’s a significant bulge pressing against his ass.

They should probably go slow, make sweet love as they pant sweet nothings against each other’s lips, but then Derek is pulling his shirt off— _hnnng!_ —and Stiles can’t keep his hands off those abs he’s been dreaming of licking.

“ _Comeoncomeoncomeon_ ,” Stiles chants, trying to undo Derek’s pants. They tear at each other’s clothes—the sounds of their frantic breaths and grunts filling the air—until, finally, Stiles is lying naked under Derek’s delicious weight.

Derek kisses down his jaw, gently nipping at the skin, and Stiles can’t help the wanton moan he releases when Derek nibbles on his ear, involuntarily spreading his legs even further.

“Condom?” Derek asks, in between sucking marks into the sensitive skin of Stiles’s collarbones.

Stiles shakes his head. He knows werewolves are clean—it’s one of those things he learned when doing extensive research into all things supernatural after Scott was bitten. In fact, he is very much looking forward to Derek’s knot. “No, no. Wanna feel you. ‘M clean, and I know you don’t carry anything.”

His breath hitches when Derek trails a hand down his chest and tweaks his nipples, left then right, before taking one between his teeth and tugging gently, making Stiles cry out in ecstasy. “Lube?”

Stiles makes a noise of protest because the last thing he wants either of them to do is move. Instead, he flicks his wrist and the lube he keeps stashed under his bed comes flying across the room, smacking Derek in the face.

“Sorry,” Stiles says with a wince, but Derek just laughs as he grabs the bottle from where it landed on the bed.

Derek pops the cap and warms the liquid between his fingers, looking down at Stiles’s body hungrily. Stiles shuts his eyes and bites his lips to stop from moaning at the sight. He’s wanted this for so long that he almost can’t believe it’s actually happening. He trembles from the anticipation of finally feeling Derek inside of him.

At the first press of Derek’s finger against his hole, Stiles’s eyes roll in the back of his head and he shouts Derek’s name in a desperate plea for _more_. Stiles is a moaning mess as Derek slips the first finger in. After the initial burn subsides, he begs Derek to add another. One finger becomes two, and then three, as Derek fingers him open—nailing his prostate with every skilled thrust of his hand.

Stiles moans and mumbles incoherently—eyes glazing over as precome coats his dick. If they don’t stop soon, he’s going to cum before Derek even gets inside of him, and that would be a tragedy, so Stiles swats at Derek’s hand, squirming away. “Come on, Derek, _please._ I’m ready.”

Stiles knows he’s still a little tight, but the slight burn from the stretch is worth it if it means getting Derek’s dick in him as soon as possible. He wraps his legs around Derek’s waist, pressing his heels into the globe of Derek’s ass to get him moving.

“ _Yesyesyesyesyes!_ ” he says when Derek lines up, nudging at his hole tantalizingly. His back arches off the bed as he looks up at Derek with desperate, pleading eyes. “Fuck me. Need it. Need to feel you inside of me. _Pleasepleaseplease_.”

Derek growls and rocks forward, sliding inside of him with one smooth thrust, making Stiles cry out and throw his head back against the headboard. Stiles clutches at the sheets below him with a white-knuckled grip, but lets go in favor of raking his blunt nails down Derek’s back when Derek finds an angle that has him hitting Stiles’s prostate with every thrust. The stretch and burn have quickly given way to how perfectly _full_ Stiles feels every time Derek bottoms out. Scorching desire courses through him and it takes him a moment to realize he’s moaning—loud, and desperate, and utterly carnal.

Derek growls against his neck, nipping and sucking what are sure to be dark red bruises into his skin. “You don’t even know— _fuck_ —how much I’ve wanted this. God, _Stiles—_ ”

Stiles mutters a string of curses and pleas as Derek fucks him mercilessly, each skilled thrust sending jolts of white-hot electricity throughout his body.

His orgasm is damn near punched out of him when Derek pushes up and takes Stiles’s dick in his large, calloused hand, jacking him off in time with each perfect thrust. Stiles comes with a shout—stifling his scream into the crook of Derek’s neck as he shakes through his release.

It takes a second to realize anything is off, but when Stiles relaxes back against the mattress, he notices the lights flickering. There’s also a familiar whirring coming from behind him. Somehow, their printers turned on. And, if he listens carefully, there’s the very recognizable sound of several car alarms going off in the parking lot below. “What the—”

“Your magic,” Derek says with a grunt, dropping his head to Stiles’s chest. “I felt a wave of it as soon as you came.”

Stiles laughs at the ridiculousness but immediately frowns in concern when Derek makes a choked off sound. Looking up at him, Stiles notices that Derek’s face is screwed up tight, his body completely tense. And that’s when Stiles feels it—the swell of Derek’s knot. His laughter had made him clench around Derek’s dick and the pressure was clearly too much, not giving Derek’s knot enough room to swell to its full size.

He lets out a slow breath, body shuddering as Derek’s knot grows, locking them together. Every pulse of Derek’s dick sends shock waves through his body. If he could, Stiles would be hard again just from the feeling of Derek coming inside of him. He’s never felt so full, so _sated_.

Before he has a chance to bask in the glory of orgasmic bliss, however, the door to their room swings open. Scott walks in, head down as he stares at his phone. “Dude, I’m sorry to just barge in, but I wanted to thank you for helping Isaac earlier.”

Scott looks confused when he finally glances up at Stiles’s bed and finds it empty. His nostrils flare and his face scrunches in disgust as he scans the room in search of Stiles.

Derek growls predatorily and covers Stiles’s body with his own before Scott’s eyes land on them.

Stiles wonders what kind of face Scott is making right now—most likely one of shock and embarrassment—so he’s surprised when he doesn’t hear Scott stumble backwards out of their room. If anything, it sounds like he’s coming closer, and Stiles watches as Derek’s face shifts into its beta form as he snarls above him.

“You son of a bitch! This is gonna break Stiles’s heart! He _really_ likes you!”

Scott is truly the _best_ bro, so Stiles should probably save him from Derek’s murderous glare before things escalate even more.

Stiles peeks out from around Derek’s shoulder, finally getting a good look at the scene unfolding before him. He has to stifle a laugh at how adorable Scott is attempting a scowl because he looks more like an angry puppy than a ferocious alpha ‘wolf. “ _He-ey_ , buddy.”

Scott’s mouth drops open in shock. “Wait, you guys—”

“ _Yeah…_ so, um, can we finish this conversation another time?” Stiles runs a hand down Derek’s back and gently squeezes his bicep to ground him and calm his threatening growls. Having another alpha in their den, especially when they’re in such an intimate and vulnerable position, is clearly setting Derek on edge.

Thankfully, Scott understands and doesn’t need to be asked twice. He promptly backs out of the room, yelling another thanks over his shoulder as he slams the door shut behind him.

Stiles cups Derek’s cheek and watches the scarlet fade from his eyes as he leans into the touch and visibly relaxes. He slides his hand to the back of Derek’s neck and pulls him down for a sweet, but firm kiss.

Derek sighs into it and hitches Stiles’s leg around his waist to get more comfortable, gently grinding his hips so his knot presses against Stiles’s sensitive prostate. Stiles hisses at the sensation and rolls his hips to get more of that sweet friction. After a few minutes of making out, however, Stiles’s legs start to ache and he has to break their kiss. It takes a little maneuvering, but eventually, they flip so that Stiles is straddling Derek’s waist—a much better position, especially when Stiles rocks his hips, grinding down on Derek’s shrinking knot.

Once Derek’s knot goes down enough, Stiles moves to pull away, but Derek grips his hips, stopping him. He snorts and swats at Derek’s forearm. “Just grabbing a shirt to clean us up.”

When Derek’s hold loosens, he reaches down to pick up a shirt he’d thrown on the ground earlier that day in his haste to change after spilling his soda during lunch—Stiles is the worst roommate—only, it’s not there. Derek probably threw it in his hamper, but when Stiles glances at it, it sits empty as clothes lay strewn around it.

Seriously, Stiles is the _worst_ roommate.

Stiles sighs explosively because _what the fuck? Again?_ _How does this keep happening?_ Perhaps Derek cleaned up. “Did you see my Batman shirt? I swear it was just here this morning.”

Derek makes a strangled noise—a choked off sound that immediately draws Stiles’s attention back to him. The tips of Derek’s ears are pink and he suspiciously looks everywhere _except_ Stiles.

“Derek?”

“ _Itookit,_ ” Derek mumbles hurriedly.

“I’m sorry. Say again?”

Derek clenches his jaw, but Stiles sits up and crosses his arms over his chest, making it clear that he’ll wait as long as it takes to get an answer.

Derek huffs. “I. Took. It.” The words are spat out through a tightly clenched jaw, but Stiles suspects it’s due to Derek’s embarrassment.

“And _why,_ pray tell, did you take my shirt?”

To say he’s shocked when Derek admits to stealing his clothes would be an understatement.

“But-but _why?_ ” he asks as Derek reaches behind him for the shirt Stiles tossed on his desk.

“To get used to your scent,” Derek admits reluctantly, cleaning them off. It’s clear by the way his eyes flash that he likes their combined scents. “I thought it would help.”

“Did it?” Stiles asks.

“No.” Derek shakes his head and tosses the cum-stained shirt down next to them. "I kept telling myself it’d get easier over time, but the more I was around you, the harder it got to control myself. But I didn’t wanna be like all the other alphas, treating you like you’re some kind of object. You deserve so much better than that."

Stiles tilts his head, mind working through everything Derek just said. “Wait. Is that why all those alphas are always following me? I’m ‘ _alpha bait_ ’?”

When Derek nods, there’s a moment of doubt, that maybe Derek only likes him because he’s some type of catnip for werewolves—wolfnip—but something about the way Derek looks at him expels all doubt—it’s soft and adoring, and full of love.

“But that’s not the only reason you love me.” It’s not a question, but a confirmation.

“It’s so much more than that,” Derek says adamantly. “It’s _everything_. It’s your loyalty and kindness. Your devotion to the people you care about. It’s the way your eyes light up every time someone even _mentions_ Star Wars. It’s how well you take care of your friends. It’s how smart you are, and how frustratingly _stubborn_ you are. It’s the crinkle in your nose when you laugh, and the way you bite your lip when you’re nervous. It’s all of you. Every single part. _And you get me, Stiles_. I’ve _never_ felt this comfortable around anyone.”

Oh, wow.

Stiles’s heart flips in his chest, beating wildly at Derek’s proclamations. For all the attention he’s gotten from the other alphas, he doubts any of them really know him. Not like this. He smiles softly as he looks down at Derek and runs his hands over the planes of Derek’s stomach as he says quietly, “You’re good with Kira.”

“I don’t have a choice with Kira. She bounced up to me freshman year of high school and asked if I liked her. I said no, but she wouldn’t go away.” Derek rolls his eyes at the memory.

Stiles can’t help but snort at the imagery. He can totally picture the tiny kitsune bounding up to the big, brooding alpha and declaring them best friends on the spot.

“Believe me, it still took _months_ before I opened up to her. It was easy with you. I enjoy listening to you talk—even if it’s just about the limited edition Ewok Funko Pop you got off eBay, or how you think corgis look like loaves of bread when they lie down.”

Stiles smiles brightly. Even his regulars often look put out when he drones on and on. Even if it’s something interesting!

“They _do_ look like loaves of bread!” Stiles throws his head back as he laughs. Derek’s hands tighten on his hips and when Stiles looks down, Derek’s eyes are scarlet and latched onto his throat.

_Oh_.

Stiles bites his bottom lip to hide his smirk. There’s a teasing glint in his eye as he watches Derek wrestle for control. Now that he knows what gets Derek going, he has no qualms about tilting his head to the side and trailing a finger down the side of his neck. “Do it, Derek. Scent me, mark me. Let everyone know. Let them all know that I’m yours.”

Derek’s growl sends a shiver down his spine, and Stiles can’t help the moan he lets out when Derek surges up to suck on the underside of his jaw.

_Fuck!_

“They’re goin’ for round two!” Stiles’s head snaps up at the yell, the voice carrying through their door from the hall.

His eyes widen in realization. How did he forget that their room isn’t soundproof?

“Holy shit! _Can everyone hear us?_ ” Stiles whispers harshly, folding himself in half to hide his face in Derek’s chest.

Warmth floods his face when the same voice cheers “ _yes!”_ followed by their neighbors banging on the walls and whooping.

“ _Oh. My. God_ ,” he mumbles. There might only be one alpha per floor, but there are _several_ werewolves that live in this hall. “I’ll never be able to show my face again.”

Derek chuckles and rubs his back. “If you want, we can try to get a soundproofed room next semester.”

“But those are reserved for mated pairs,” Stiles says, lifting his head to look Derek in the eyes.

Derek raises a brow, and really, Stiles should know better. It’s the whole reason Scott and Isaac already mated. Same for Erica and Boyd. Derek is a wolf, and he’s practically proclaimed Stiles as his mate.

“ _Oh_.” Stiles blushes and can’t stop his grin from growing. “I’d like that.” He smiles brightly and settles back into Derek’s warm embrace, feeling complete for the first time in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> rebloggable on [tumblr](https://evanesdust.tumblr.com/post/640244092549349376/its-obvious-youre-oblivious-masterlist-dereks)
> 
> kudos and comments give me life <3  
> no like seriously, i’m addicted to them
> 
> i’ve got a [tumblr](http://evanesdust.tumblr.com/)


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